The Rollin family's ancestral home lay in the southwest of the Rollin Plain, beside a tributary of the Rollin River. The riverbank boasted fertile soil, dotted with farms and nearby towns. Following the tributary downstream, one would pass through a scenic valley.
This was the birthplace of the great Rollin family.
Centuries ago, when the Rollin ancestors were still low-ranking nobles ruling over a small village, the Rollin bloodline had taken root in this land.
The carriage passed through a dark forest, lush green trees on both sides, the air fresh and clean. Along the smooth path, Dwight could see the small valley to his left; to his right, a tall tower loomed in the distance — that was the Rollin ancestral castle.
After centuries of glory, the tiny village from centuries past was gone. The original manor had been renovated and rebuilt countless times, growing into a massive estate.
A crimson stone wall encircled the castle, built from white boulders quarried from the nearby valley — legend said the valley had once been a hill, worn down over centuries of stone-cutting.
The arrival of the family head's eldest son drew great attention.
Three hundred private soldiers stationed at the castle had long since donned their brightest uniforms, lined up beneath the red walls outside. The arched gate struck Dwight as imposing; with his eye, he could see the thick stone walls could serve as a sturdy defensive ring if needed.
A true military noble house of the empire.
The three hundred soldiers were clearly well-trained, sitting straight on their horses with skilled control, and their equipment was respectable. Dwight later learned these men were the elite of the Rollin private army, handpicked from across the entire Rollin Plain — their training rivaled that of the empire's local garrisons.
The dark forest outside the castle also served as a natural hunting ground. Annual hunts were held here, doubling as combat training for the soldiers.
The castle's main structure held two towers; one rose especially high, taller than the distant hills. Having studied the family's history, Dwight knew why: a past Rollin lord, though a military man, had been obsessed with astrology and married a female astrologer. The tower was built so his wife could study the stars at night.
A red carpet stretched from the castle gate to where Dwight's carriage stopped.
As soon as he stepped down, a silver-haired elder stepped forward. Tall and thin, he wore a crisp gray formal suit, his manner rigid and solemn, respectful but not obsequious.
"Young Master. I am Hill Rollin, the steward here." The elder bowed deeply, his voice low and steady. "Word of your arrival reached me three days ago. Everyone in the castle is ready to receive you. Please follow me."
The old steward turned and led Dwight carefully up the steps. His etiquette was flawless — polite, humble, but not fawning. He walked just off the red carpet, letting Dwight enjoy the honor alone.
Dwight had little time to take in the interior, but one sight left a deep impression:
As they entered the main gate, a giant flame-like banner hung on the facing wall!
It stood nearly eight meters tall and six meters wide, covering the entire wall — the family's emblem. Two crossed swords, entwined with irises, crimson flames roaring around them, topped with a crown.
The banner's grandeur filled the hall with solemnity.
Servants in neat uniforms lined both sides of the hall to greet him. Dwight cared little for the odd "inspection" and nodded casually.
"Steward, take me to the study. The rest of you may return to your duties."
Old Hill obeyed without hesitation. Soon Dwight was led into a room…
If he had to call it anything, Dwight would have named it a **library**, not a study.
It was enormous.
A circular chamber with a high domed ceiling, decorated with ancient plaster patterns and statues along the walls — many depicting great figures from the Rollin family's past.
Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves ringed the room — towering, two-story-high shelves packed tight with books. Dwight guessed there were at least **tens of thousands of volumes** here. Iron chests held precious items: family trees, ancient documents, important records.
As a military noble house, even the study breathed a warrior's spirit.
Directly across from the door, a giant two-handed greatsword and a massive battleaxe hung crossed on the wall. Their blades glinted coldly, carefully polished and maintained.
One wall of shelves held huge display cases filled with weapons — all antiques now.
A hundred-year-old standard imperial military shortbow, an old knight's sword, a long cavalry saber, a black ironwood bow…
Dwight drifted over, drawn by the weapons. They were well-preserved; despite the years, several still shone with a sharp edge.
"These were wielded by our greatest ancestors," old Hill said in his flat tone. "They bear witness to the Rollin family's glory."
The circular shape made sound resonate, creating a low, heavy hum that deepened the solemn atmosphere.
Dwight lightly touched the old rosewood desk, gazing around.
Everything was carefully maintained and cleaned, yet clear signs of age remained. Parts of the shelves were worn smooth and shiny. The massive desk under his hand was older than the steward himself, Dwight suspected.
"This was once the heart of the Rollin family," the steward murmured. "Where our lords thought and made decisions. Every item here holds the marks of our glorious past. When the family moved its seat to the capital, we kept the tradition: any lord returning to the castle must spend his **first night here in the study**, not in the bedroom — to remind him of our history and his duty."
He glanced at Dwight and bowed his head.
"You are the Count's eldest son, here as his representative. If you wish to uphold the tradition…"
Dwight smiled and nodded at once.
"Traditions are traditions. They must be honored. I am not the lord, but I am my father's son and his representative. I shall spend the night in the study, as is custom."
The steward's face softened, his voice warmer.
"Very well. I shall have everything prepared. Also… I know you have come to inspect the family's estates on the Count's behalf. Where shall you begin? I have already had this year's account books and records assembled. When will you examine them?"
Dwight smiled and cut him off. He walked casually around the desk and sat down. The sofa was firm but comfortable.
"Steward, I have traveled a long way and am hungry. Bring me something to eat first. Then I shall begin."
The castle's efficiency was impressive.
Soon Dwight enjoyed a proper southern noble afternoon tea in the study. After finishing a sweet pumpkin pie and wiping his mouth, old Hill directed two strong servants into the room.
They pushed a cart piled high with ledgers — a mountain of books, taller than Dwight himself.
"All of this is this year's accounts?" Dwight frowned, suspecting the steward was testing him.
"Every last volume, Young Master," Hill replied seriously. "These include land surveys and farm areas across the entire southern Cote Province, the finances of six towns, logistics, pay, supplies, and weapon costs for our three private army garrisons, grain harvests, and budgets for new buildings this year. I have also begun next year's budget, though it is unfinished. But I expect you will stay long enough for me to complete it."
Dwight touched his nose, staring at the mountain of books. "…All of it?"
"This is only part. The rest…" The old steward allowed himself a rare less-than-sober comment. "…I expect you will need a full week to read them all."
Dwight frowned, studying the steward closely.
He did not seem to be joking.
But surely the man did not believe a thirteen-year-old boy could understand such accounts, let alone oversee the entire family's estates!
He must know Dwight had been exiled here, a disgrace sent to the countryside.
So why present him with all these ledgers, acting as if he were a proper inspector?
What was his game?
Was the long-serving steward resentful of the young master's arrival, fearing he would lose his power?
Was this a show of dominance?
Or had he been embezzling from the estates, using a "foolish boy" to cover his tracks?
Anything was possible.
Yet Dwight said nothing, not even a question. He picked up the top ledger, blew off the dust, and sat calmly to read.
After a while, he looked up. The steward still stood beside him.
"Is there something else, Steward?" Dwight's tone turned cool, casual. "I prefer to be alone when I read."
"As you wish, Young Master."
A flicker of surprise flashed in Hill's eyes. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then thought better of it, turning to leave with the servants.
Once the heavy study door closed, Dwight set down the ledger and stood, pacing the huge room. He smiled to himself.
"It seems something interesting is indeed about to happen."
Time passed until nightfall. The steward returned twice: once to refill Dwight's tea, once to personally light the candles as darkness fell.
To old Hill's astonishment, the young master was **actually reading the accounts**!
He was not pretending. He was truly studying them. Several ledgers lay open on the desk, and Dwight appeared to be calculating figures. When the steward and servants lit the twenty large candelabras, Dwight casually asked a few questions about the books.
They were not random questions — every one struck to the heart of the matter.
This boy was genuinely reading and understanding the dry, complicated accounts!
This… this was the eldest son labeled an "idiot" back in the capital?
Dwight caught the steward's surprise, despite his best efforts to hide it. He said nothing, waiting until the door closed again before closing the ledger he had just finished.
In truth… the accounts were fascinating.
All afternoon, Dwight had not bothered checking for fake numbers or embezzlement. He was no genius; he could never spot fraud in estates he knew nothing about.
No one would have guessed how he was reading them.
Who said ledgers only recorded numbers?
Dwight was learning from them what no history book or family scroll could tell him.
From the items and categories, he gained a complete picture of how the Rollin family ruled their lands.
The Rollin territory was almost an independent realm, with near-sovereign authority.
Taxation and fiscal power belonged to the family. Local officials were appointed by the house. While tax rates followed imperial law, the family could adjust, reduce, or raise them using special decrees.
Only a portion of the taxes was sent to the imperial treasury each year.
Then there was military power.
From military-related entries, Dwight saw the empire stationed almost no regular troops here — just two small, second-line reserve infantry regiments on the territory's borders. Worse, those regiments were supplied and funded **by the Rollin family** — the imperial military provided nothing!
Order across most of the territory was kept by the Rollin private army.
With just these accounts, Dwight easily grasped the Rollin family's full state — **economically, politically, and militarily**.
If the old steward knew how he was "reading" the books, his eyes would pop out of his head.
Two facts were crystal clear:
First, the family controlled all taxation here.
Second, they controlled all military force.
From his old world, Dwight knew a fundamental truth:
A nation's sovereignty over its land rested on two pillars — **taxation and military garrisons**.
And here, the Rollin family controlled both.
What did that mean?
The imperial central government had effectively lost sovereignty over half of Cote Province.
This land was almost an **independent kingdom**.
Dwight leaned back, deep in thought. The situation shocked him.
When a central government lost such authority, it was often the prelude to chaos.
The room fell silent, save for the occasional crackle of candle flames.
Suddenly, Dwight shot to his feet and spun around, staring at the wall behind him!
It was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves packed with books. Nothing seemed out of place.
But Dwight felt it — he was not mistaken.
His spiritual power far exceeded that of ordinary men, making his senses sharper.
A moment ago, he had felt a gaze — a faint, hidden stare fixed on him!
The shelves were unchanged. Dwight looked higher.
Above the shelves hung a row of portraits.
Oil paintings of the Rollin lords past, lined up from oldest to newest.
The first on the left was the oldest, faded and worn: a middle-aged man in imperial military uniform.
This was the great Marshal Rollin — the man who had won the war, saved the empire, and earned the Rollin Plain from the emperor.
He looked sharp-eyed, with the same cold, determined gaze as Count Raymond.
And that gaze seemed to be fixed **on Dwight**.
Dwight's heart skipped. He stepped back, pacing left and right, watching the painting. Then he sighed softly.
"Perhaps I am just being paranoid… it is only a painting."
He turned back and picked up another ledger…
Behind him, in the painting, the marshal's eyes **blinked**.
Yes. The figure in the oil painting had come to life.
The stiff, painted eyes suddenly flickered with life, staring at Dwight's back with a hint of curiosity…
Dwight, seemingly absorbed in his ledger, spun around **without warning** and stared straight at the portrait.
One boy.
One painting.
Their eyes locked.
"No need to pretend." Dwight slowly raised his hand. In it he held a silver spoon — left over from his pumpkin pie. The silver surface shone like a mirror.
"You were watching me. And I saw you in this." He smiled, staring at the wall. "You can stop hiding. Don't you know it is rude to spy on someone from behind?"
Silence.